I grew up in a small town where everyone I knew and some that I did not, knew me anyways. My name is Erica Walker and I happen to be the middle child and the outcast of my two siblings, one older and one younger. We grew up just south of Macon, Ga where a small town called Gray exists. The most exciting thing about our town was the skating rink. It has been the only thing to do in that town besides hanging out in the Ingles parking lot or riding dirt roads (you’re’ screwed for both of these though until you’re at least 15). Every Friday night, we would all go to the Gray-8-Skate and pay our 20 dollars that our parents didn’t mind giving up because it let them have a night off. The other fifth graders and I cliqued up into our groups and pretended to be as cool as we thought we possibly could with our hair straightened, ripped jeans, and hoop earrings, all on top of in-line skates. Skating was the best time a pre-teen could have and the place seemed so big. The town seemed so big and it was just… Home. As I have grown older, however, I see that the town's not big at all. It is not exciting and it is not the home I wished that I had grown up in.